


Not in the History Books

by highlytrainedfangirl



Series: Queer Avengers [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (not the avengers dw), 5+1, Bisexual Male Character, Coming Out, F/M, Irish Steve Rogers, Islamophobia, Love Letters, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Secret Relationship, Slight Internalised Homophobia, Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin, Steve Rogers is not a saint, Tony is an ass, implied alcoholism (tony), steve is a bit drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 12:24:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14308569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highlytrainedfangirl/pseuds/highlytrainedfangirl
Summary: History has pinned Captain America as the poster boy of 'traditional American values'The Avengers have to come to terms with the fact that Steve Rogers is far from Captain America and the history books aren't always right.(Follows on from the Queer Avengers series but still makes sense as a stand-alone)





	Not in the History Books

The longer the Avengers lived with Steve Rogers, the more they came to realise that no one actually knew him. He was a constant stream of surprises. It started small, but slowly the Avengers began to realise that the Captain America they were raised with was not the same name that stepped out of the ice.  
***

The first step in shattering the team’s perception of Steve was small, almost insignificant.

The team sat gathered around the over-sized TV screen that occupied the shared living space for what had been dubbed ‘Avengers Movie Night’. No one could remember who started it and they all constantly complained about the others’ film choices, but the tradition somehow stuck. So, the Avengers (minus Thor, who still spent very little time on Earth) gathered in front of the screen on a set of sofas that was far too small for the group, and frankly inexcusable from a man like Tony who could empty every furniture store in the state with money to spare. 

This particular movie night was one of the ones that Steve always either loved or dreaded – an ‘educating Steve about goddamn classics’ night. The movie in question was a horror, and the others had made him sit through so many in such a short space of time, that he stopped being able to tell them apart. 

Despite the insistence from Natasha that these films were important in shaping modern horror conventions, he couldn’t help feeling like they all already were the same film; generic ‘scary’ one or two-word title, people who are weirdly okay with accepting the existence of the supernatural, and teenagers making terrible decisions. 

He couldn’t even remember what the one he was watching was called, but the rest of the team insisted that it was a vital piece of cinema.

Using a quiet moment to slip off the edge of the sofa, towards the kitchen to grab another can of coke, he stumbled through the dark room (Tony’s voice echoed through his head – “emersion, dammit!”) in search of the doorway. 

However, he forgot about the low glass table between the back of the sofa and the door. The darkness and a well-timed jump-scare sent Steve’s shin into the corner of the table top. 

“Shit!”

Tony’s head whipped around.

“Sorry…” he whispered back, assuming it from due to interrupting the movie, but after he left the room Tony’s eyes remained glued to the spot where Steve had been. 

After a few seconds of silence Tony realised that no one else had reacted. Bruce and Natasha didn’t even flinch, and though Clint looked slightly surprised, he didn’t say anything. Tony couldn’t have been hearing things, could he? But there was no way that Saint Cap would ever swear. It simply wasn’t possible. 

Tony started gesturing to Clint, half signing, half flailing, trying to make his point of ‘what the hell was that’ as clear as possible, without drawing the attention of Steve in the other room. Clint just shrugged and turned back to the TV. 

Tony felt betrayed. How was he the only one reacting like a sane person to hearing Captain America – the pinnacle of 1940s charm – swear?

As soon as Steve came back into the room, Tony let it out, “so, I’m not the only one who just heard Cap swear, right?”

Natasha glared at him; interrupting a movie was a criminal offense as far as she was concerned. Clint sighed and kept watching the movie – so much for subtlety. Bruce looked confused, almost concerned. 

“Oh, come on,” he rolled his eyes, “I can’t be the only one shocked to hear good ol’ so-polite-he’s-probably-secretly-Canadian Cap swear.”

He heard someone snort, and at first, he thought it was Natasha who was now smirking, but after a few seconds he realised it was Steve himself, who looked like he was about to burst out laughing. Feeling a little defensive, Tony shot back an indignant “what?” but that seemed to be the tipping point for Steve. 

“You thought I didn’t swear? Ever?” His tone was caught between laughter and confusion. 

Tony stared, unable to see why everyone else wasn’t on the same page, “uh, yes. Aren’t you supposed to be all about those good old fashioned American Values and being all gentlemanly?”

At this Steve looked like he couldn’t choose whether to laugh even harder or be very concerned. “Tony, please tell me you don’t think people only started swearing, what? twenty years ago.” At this Natasha did let out a small snort and Bruce was grinning at him. 

“No! I just,” he waved his arms in Steve’s direction, “you’re _you_. You’re _Captain America_ , you’re supposed to have grown up all proper, a good little catholic boy…” The longer he spoke the more Steve’s face fell. “what?”

Steve looked borderline upset. “What do you guys actually know about my life before the war.” All he received were blank stares in return. “You must know I grew up in Brooklyn,” a few nods, “I know it has a bit of a different reputation now, but you must have some idea of what it was like then? It wasn’t exactly a ‘proper’ area. And even if it was, I was in the military, I grew up with Irish parents –”

He stopped when he saw looks of shock at that, “you didn’t know that?”

It was Bruce who replied, “No one ever said anything about Captain America being an immigrant.”

“well, I wasn’t,” he corrected, “but both my parents were. I guess its not such a surprise they left that out of the history books.” Steve looked down at his lap as the others shared worried looks. _Of course, history wouldn’t dare allow Captain America to be presented as the son of immigrants. Of course._

That night began the start of the team viewing Steve differently. It took time, but they slowly began to notice more about Steve. 

 

*** 

He knows he shouldn’t, but Steve can’t help visiting the Smithsonian. He might feel narcissistic if he wasn’t going to his exhibit for the Howling Commandos. He missed them so much. He missed his old life, as terrible as it could be. He missed Bucky.

He especially missed Bucky.

He had lost count of the number of time he had visited the exhibit just to watch the old footage of the two smiling together and laughing, to see the dinted compasses and match boxes that held stories only the Commandos remembered, to feel like, if he closed his eyes, he could just go back. As much as the twenty-first century was growing on him, it would never be right growing old without his old friends. His family. 

This time when he walked through the doors to his exhibit, Steve came face to face with Bucky. Or at least, a life-sized cut-out of him, face stern, arm raised in a salute. Of course, he had almost forgotten. Thanks to a few new donations from Rebecca Barnes-Proctor (God, Steve had been so happy to see her alive), there was a new temporary exhibit dedicated to Bucky. At his sister’s request, Bucky’s newly-donated letters and trinkets would be displayed for a short time before being archived.

Steve felt many conflicting emotions. He wanted the exhibit; Bucky deserved far more recognition than Steve ever got. Bucky was never his sidekick – Steve always thought it was the other way around. He was happy, but something ached inside every time he had to hear how ‘inseparable’ the two were. 

No one knew the half of it. 

There were dozens of letters pinned to a board, with typed transcripts beside Bucky’s haphazard scrawl. Each one professed love and longing while Bucky fought countries away from Steve. He never received them. The letters were found, unsent, in a bag of Bucky’s things after his death. They had been written before Steve was accepted for the serum, but Bucky was too afraid to send them. Of course, when Steve did reach the war, Bucky told him about the letters, but Steve never read them. What was in there that they couldn’t say to each other? 

Now they lay bare for the world, addressed only to “darling”, “baby”, “doll” and whatever other sickeningly sweet endearments he could come up with (and though Bucky mostly used them sarcastically, something inside Steve melted every time he heard them). 

_[Barnes’ mystery lover has never been disclosed; even his family stated they were unaware Barnes had a partner before the war. There has been some speculation about who these letters may have been addressed to, but her identity cannot be confirmed. It is, however, assumed that all the letters are addressed to the same woman, despite the varying subject lines.]_

How true was it? Did Bucky’s family really have no idea? Did Rebecca know now? Had Rebecca known then? His family had sure made it known at the time that they thought Bucky needed to settle down, and there were more than a few remarks thrown towards him and _Steve_ living together. 

Perhaps they were just trying to preserve his reputation – Steve knew that not everyone had moved with the times and a Perfect American Hero wasn’t likely to be accepted as anything but straight any time soon. 

Steve wandered around the rest of the exhibit, but his eyes always strayed to the letters pinned to the board. They were all words he had heard a million times in life, but he couldn’t stop himself reading the lines over and over, playing he phrases in his head, _I love you, I’m doing this for you, wait for me, I love you, I promise I’ll come back, I’d marry you if I could, I love you, please be safe, I’m with you ‘til the end of the line, I love you._

If anyone noticed, no one commented on the tears rolling down the cheeks of the man who looked strikingly like Captain America.

 

By the time he returned to the tower, Steve was somewhat composed, but every trip to the Smithsonian left him more shaken than he would like to admit. He was at least composed enough that, when he entered the shared living space, no one commented on his appearance. 

Instead it was straight back to the usual teasing. 

“I see Capsicle is finally done admiring himself,” Tony was leaning against a counter, phone in hand, and no doubt photos of Steve at the museum had made their way online. He knew it was impossible to go completely anonymous. The only positive was that whatever the photos were, they clearly didn’t show how affected Steve had been. 

Instead he plastered on the light-hearted mask that was becoming disturbingly easier to fake with each day. “Yeah, well, its honestly kinda creepy that exhibit still exists now that everyone knows I’m alive.” That was not a lie. As happy as Steve was to see the other Howling Commandos commemorated, he always avoided section on himself. It was too strange to think about. 

Clint chipped in, “yeah, I’m sure its real tough having a museum talking about how great you are, are heroic you are, how perfect you are, how -”

“Yeah, yeah I get the point,” Steve waved his hands dismissively, “it’s really not that fun having everyone know so many weirdly-specific things about you.”

Tony raised a glass filled with a clear liquid that was definitely not water _(oh god its not even twelve o’clock)_ , “You’re a celebrity now Cap, its part of the job. I know, its horrible having everyone know how you – the sole hero strong enough – valiantly rescued almost four hundred men, when no one else dared take the mission -” 

Steve wanted to roll his eyes and walk away, but something about Tony’s words caught his attention. “What do you mean by ‘when no one else dared take the mission’?”

Tony and Clint shred a confused look, “its all there in the exhibit. Colonel Philips organised a rescue mission for a number of allied soldiers that were being held in a P-O-W camp, but all the men were either to unfit or refused to go, so Phillips brought in you to complete the mission yourself.”

Steve wasn’t sure whether he should laugh or cry. Of course that’s how it would be recorded. He felt the corners of his lips twitching and the other two clearly noticed.

“What’s funny?” Clint asked, almost cornered by Steve’s reaction. 

“Just,” he shook his head in disbelief, “that’s not even vaguely close to what happened. The 107th was abandoned. Colonel Phillips – and everyone else, for that matter – considered them dead. Letters were sent home to their families.”

Tony put down his glass and rested his elbows on the counter in front of him, “But you were sent to rescue them...?”

This time Steve did laugh but it was bitter, “The second I heard about what happened I rushed to Phillips’ tent (he remembered the feeling of his insides being ripped out as Bucky was pronounced dead) and begged to go help. He wouldn’t let me.” Steve remembered the way he had been dismissed as noting more than a ‘chorus girl’. He wondered what else had been edited to favour the military. 

“But, I mean, you did rescue them?” asked Clint, “That’s a fact, we know they all got back somehow. You can’t really be telling us that _Captain America_ disobeyed orders?” He looked scandalised. 

Tony, on the other hand, seemed much calmer than Steve had expected, especially after his last revelation about Steve. “Now that I can believe.” At the two sets of raised eyebrows sent his way he shrugged, “Steve’s shit at following orders. I figured it was just shock or something, but I guess not.”

Tony wasn’t wrong. Steve was terrible at following orders; he was a terrible soldier and he had only been kept around because Captain America was deemed too important to lose. But it did make Steve think; he had never wanted to read about himself in the Smithsonian, so how much of that was actually true?

*** 

The rest of the team all began to realise that Steve was not the good little soldier that had been portrayed in old war films and text books, but none of them saw the extent of it until a video posted on YouTube made its way into the news. 

Steve had been walking through a mall with little more than a cap to hide his face behind. He hated mall – too loud, to big, too many people, too many chances to be recognised – but he tolerated it in order to reach a small café he had recently found that was proud of its 1950s aesthetic. It was closest he had come to finding anywhere serving apple pie that remined him of home. So, he would suffer a million treks through the crowded mall to taste it. 

One that particular day, he was grateful to have been walking through when he did. He saw a young girl, who couldn’t have been older than her early twenties, looking nervous while a man quite a few years older was talking to her. Steve assumed he was making an unwanted advance and was more than prepared to go into ‘back-off mode’ (something he had been perfecting since the thirties) when the man made a grab for the pale purple scarf wrapped around her head. 

He was well-aware of the current ‘immigration crisis’, recognising most of what was said about Muslims and Mexicans from his own experience with the treatment of the Irish. 

The second Steve realised what the man’s motivations were he changed course, heading straight for the pair. As he moved, the man grabbed the scarf and pulled, tearing it from the girl’s head and throwing it into a near by fountain. 

He smirked victorious and Steve was finally close enough to catch the man yelling “you shouldn’t be wearing that shit anyway!”

The girl looked close to tears and was trying to cover her head with her arms but it didn’t stop the man. He continued yelling until Steve was in front of him, creating a wall between the man and the girl.

“The fuck do you want?”

It was taking a lot of restraint for Steve to keep his fists to himself and his voice calm. “I want you to back off and apologise to this poor girl.”

The man puffed out his chest, “why should I apologise? I was helping her.” The man gestured with his chin to where the girl stood, backed against a wall, just behind Steve’s shoulder. 

He moved to back the man’s view and lowered his voice, “I don’t think she wants your help. I'd suggest you leave her alone.”

The man either didn’t recognise Steve or didn’t care because he spat out a gravely “fuck you!” and threw a punch at Steve’s head. 

The fist was stopped easily. Steve should have regreted swinging back at the other man, but the second he went down Steve turned all his attention to the girl behind him. 

He wanted to ask if she was alright, but as soon as he turned to face her he remembered something about men not being supposed to see a woman’s hair and shifted his eyes to look at the ground between them. He shucked off the suede jacket he was wearing and handed it to her to cover her head, while he shielded her with his body from any passers-by. He belatedly wished he had thought to do that before challenging the man. 

Once the girl had his jacket (somewhat) securely covering her head, Steve moved to fish the sodden scarf from the fountain. When he returned to the girl there was an older woman with a comforting arm wrapped around her shoulder. He handed the soaked fabric over with a small smile and watched as the woman shepherded the girl to a nearby bathroom, although he thought he heard the girl mumble a soft “please wait” before they left. 

She returned several minutes later, the woman still hovering protectively at her elbow. The girl was once again wearing her head scarf; the two had clearly tried to dry it under a hand dryer and, while it looked much better, it was still covered in obvious damp patches. 

“Thank you,” she spoke softly and seemed almost nervous to make eye contact with Steve, but he was happy to see that she no longer looked like she was crying. She handed him back his jacket, “really, thank you. People don’t normally step in.”

The implication behind her words stung. How often did this sort of thing happen?

“I just did what was right. Are you ok?”

She nodded and smiled at him again before turning to mumble something to the woman beside her and the two went their separate ways. The girl gave him a small parting wave before disappearing into the crowd. Part of Steve wanted to insist on escorting her to a car or something, make sure she was safe, but at risk of seeming patronising he watched her go without another word.

 

By the time he returned to the tower later that afternoon, his actions had apparently reached news outlets. He shouldn’t have been surprised; it had been a fairly busy mall. 

He found Tony, Bruce, Clint, Natasha, and Pepper huddled around a tablet in the sitting area. The moment he entered Tony held up the tablet, “holy shit, Cap.” Pepper shot as brief glare in his direction before turning the full force of it on Steve. He had witnessed the wrath of Pepper directed at Tony before, but he had never been on the receiving end himself, and Steve prayed he never did again. 

“Steve,” her tone held a false sweetness that was almost more threatening than the fury in her eyes, “could you please explain why there is a video currently circulating of you punching a civilian?”

Steve risked a glance at his teammates and each face seemed split between amusement or worry. “If you’ve seen a video, you must have seen he way that guy was treating that poor girl -”

Pepper made a gesture to cut him off, “I’m not saying you shouldn’t’ve stepped in, _but Captain America cannot be seen punching civilians._ The media have had a field day.”

She was right. It hadn’t even been four hours, yet as Steve was handed the tablet he noticed half a dozen tabs already open, all displaying various articles discussing a video that someone had apparently begun filing just before he stepped in. Most were outraged at him assaulting the man, one praised his intervention, but it was the last article that caught his eye. While the others seemed preoccupied with his punch (often ignoring the rest of the video altogether) there was one that was focused around the girl.

_**Captain America defends victim of yet another Islamophobic attack**  
19-year-old Jalilah Khan was the victim of a disturbing trend of hijab pulling attacks (some genuine, some YouTube “pranks”). While Ms Khan was fortunate enough to have Captain America himself step in, many are simply ignored…_

The article went on to include several tweets from Jalilah after the video was posted by one of the onlookers. However, what caught Steve’s eye most were the statistics about similar incidents and the sheer number of imbedded tweets from other Muslims. Most seemed shocked to see anyone intervene at all – many of them surprised that Captain America was on their side. It was both heart-warming and horrifying to read responses to the video. 

When he looked back up, Pepper seemed to have calmed down, although he knew she was still furious over the damage control she would have to do. Steve did not want to think about what Fury’s reaction would be. The others looked thrilled, especially now that Pepper had reigned herself in. 

“So,” Natasha’s face was plastered with a smirk, “does _Captain America_ (she wiggled her eyebrows and spoke in a dramatic voice) like to make a habit of punching guys on the street?”

He looked sheepishly at his feet “Steve Rogers has been making a habit of that long before Captain America did.”

Tony and Clint shared a glance – they were a little more prepared for Steve’s rebellious side than the others. Bruce leaned over and whispered to Steve while shooting a quick look towards Pepper, “I’m not sure I should say this, but I’m on your side with this one.” Pepper definitely heard. 

***

Steve was starting to like living with the Avengers. He still wasn’t sure he was close enough to call all of them friends yet, but he no longer spent every day hiding away in his room. Although he felt like doing it. Especially when Tony was involved. Steve knew he didn’t mean to an asshole, but the man did not know when to quit.

All he wanted was to grab a can of coke but getting to the refrigerator meant slipping past a Clint who was rapidly alternating between signing and speaking some dirty joke to Tony. Rhodey was sat beside them, trying to look as if he wasn’t watching/listening. 

Noticing Steve’s appearance, Tony made a gesture to stop Clint mid-sign and smirked, “Hold up, we don’t want to taint Cap’s innocence.” 

Clint gave a short snort and raised his hands in mock-surrender, “I wouldn’t want to be responsible for corrupting America’s sweetheart.”

Tony and Clint both started laughing again – borderline _giggling_ while Rhodey rolled his eyes pretending not to smile. It wasn’t a shock to Steve. He was well-accustomed to the virgin jokes the seeming hilarity Tony especially found in them. Normally Steve could ignore them or pretend they didn’t get to him; at first, he had tried to dismiss them, but that only spurred on Tony and Clint. 

They shouldn’t bother him. The ‘jokes’ about him being a virgin alone weren’t enough to get to Steve. But the thoughts they drudged up did: Bucky, having to hide their relationship from the rest of the world, terror of discovery, loneliness now that Bucky was gone, Peggy, the relationship that never was…

It hurt.

Steve felt pathetic that such stupid and insignificant jokes could affect him as badly as they did, but the thoughts didn’t stop coming and all the while he heard Tony’s distant laughter. 

Rolling his eyes dramatically, Steve pushed past the others to grab a can from the refrigerator. He acting as always and tried to play them off. He knew neither of them meant to be mean. Tony had a habit of taking jokes too far and never knowing when to stop. That was all. That was what kept Steve from reacting.

Usually, his emotions were well guarded but, Steve must have let something show on his face because Tony was looking at him with fake pity, “aw, is ickwle Stevie upset?”

The nick-name was the final straw. 

He snapped.

No matter how much Steve told himself that Tony didn’t know what he was saying, he couldn’t help flinching at that. Slamming the refrigerator door with one hand, he used the other to push past Tony and Clint, perhaps a little too roughly. He briefly caught sight of Rhodey shooting a warning glance at Tony who was still smiling.

As he pushed past, Steve’s words came out as a low growl, “whatever image you’ve built of ‘Captain America’ inside your head, it isn’t me.”

He marched form the room, not wanting to see the faces of the three men behind him. 

***

Steve had noticed Tony watching him several times in the days following his outburst. He couldn’t really blame Tony – from the outside it must have looked like Steve did a hundred-and-eighty-degree flip from his normal reaction. Rhodey had even cornered him later that day and apologised – partly for himself, partly on Tony’s behalf. It was clear he hadn’t expected that reaction from Steve either, but Rhodey had vowed to step in if Tony started making jokes again, and Steve appreciated the sentiment. 

Tony himself didn’t speak to Steve until almost a week later when the team – accompanied by Maria Hill, Rhodey (who was practically a member anyway), Jane, and a very excited Darcy – sat gathered in the shared living area, a dozen different types of alcohol being passed around.

Steve sat alone in an armchair adjacent to two couches holding Tony, Clint, Natasha, Rhodey, and Hill. Thor and Jane were stood further away beside a newly-purchased pool table, where jane was attempting to teach Thor how to play, with limited success. Darcy and Bruce were stood at the opposite end if the room, looking out of one of the floor-to-ceiling windows. She was talking about something and gesturing to different parts of the sky (though it was impossible to see anything in the night sky with the city lights blazing) and Bruce stood with a polite smile, though he seemed to fade in and out of attentiveness. 

Most of the team were more than a little tipsy, and even Steve was beginning to feel the effects for the first time since Project Rebirth. He didn’t even want to ask Thor what Asgardian Mead was made from. 

It was strange, for Steve, to see so many of the Avengers in one room together. He was used to seeing all of them around the tower and working on missions, but spending time with any of them was still a rarity. Especially all at once. Although he suspected he was not alone in that feeling. 

The alcohol helped. A lot. 

Which probably explained why Tony began speaking to Steve, “so what’s your deal Captain Apparently-Not-A-Virgin America?” More than a few sets of raised eyebrows turned towards Steve (and a couple to Tony, wondering how he had come across this information).

Steve shrugged, trying at act nonchalant under the gaze of the room. Tony, however, seemed determined to get an answer, “oh c’mon. That’s all you have to say. No names? No details?” Tony wiggled his eyebrows and grinned suggestively; that was the exact moment Steve realised that they were all far too drunk to be having this conversation. Or maybe that was exactly why they were having it. 

Tony sighed at Steve’s silence. Most of the members of the room were losing interest, figuring Steve wasn’t going to talk. Others were hooked on the conversation – Steve knew his reluctance to ever talk about anything personal only made them more curious. Even Natasha wasn’t hiding her interest – the spy was used to knowing everything about everyone and an opportunity to get something from Steve couldn’t be missed. 

Sober Tony may have let the subject drop at that point - he might even have dismissed Steve’s outburst and gone back to assuming he was a virgin after all - but Drunk Tony had even less of an idea when to stop than Sober Tony.

“Not that I blame you, I mean, I’ve seen old photos of Peggy Carter,” Tony seemed oblivious to the multiple sets of eyes flashing warnings in is direction. Steve really didn’t want to hear whatever was going to come out of Tony’s mouth after that and he didn’t look close to stopping. All Steve said was a mumbled, “not Peggy.”

That seemed to stump Tony and Natasha’s eyebrows raised slightly. Rhodey and Hill both exchanged worried glances when Steve responded – his usually emotional barrier and the near-empty glass of Asgardian mead did not bode well. 

Tony was suddenly alert, leaning towards Steve’s chair, “what? But you and Carter were together, that’s a known fact.” His face creased in confusion. 

“Not together. Not really. One kiss before I died, that’s it.” Steve’s eyes were glued to the floor. He didn’t want to see the others’ reactions to the sadness creeping into his voice. 

Rhodey and Hill continued to share concerned expressions – both were scared Steve would say too much, and Tony and Natasha were far more focused on collecting information than thinking about Steve’s wellbeing. In the rest of the room, Thor, Jane, Darcy, and Bruce were all still occupied and seemed disinterested in the conversation happening around Steve. Clint appeared to be sleeping against Natasha’s shoulder. Only the four of them were listening to Steve. A small nod from Hill to Rhodey signified it was okay – for the time being. 

Steve, on the other hand, didn’t care, for the first time, who was or wasn’t listening to the ramblings that started spilling out of his mouth. Every question asked he answered without even thinking. 

“Maybe if I hadn’t died… Maybe if I hadn’t died we’d’ve been together. But it wasn’t like everyone thinks.” He’d always seen Peggy as his only future, especially after Bucky died, but even before that there had been an understanding that she could be his only chance at a life out of hiding and fear. He’d loved her. Steve really had loved her, but he could never bring himself to leave Bucky. 

“How come you weren’t together sooner?” this time it was Natasha asking the question, and though she wouldn’t deny prying, her tone was kind. Steve didn’t _need_ to think to answer that one. 

“Bucky.”

Tony looked even more confused while Natasha’s eyes widened in understanding. Hill and Rhodey both slowly raised from the couch and wandered over to where Bruce and Darcy were talking. While they didn’t catch on as quickly as Natasha, neither wanted to stop Steve from opening up and they both knew they weren’t the ones he would be talking to if he were sober. 

“When I died I was still mourning Bucky.” Steve’s hands clenched around the glass in his hands, trying desperately to stop his thoughts from drifting down. Dwelling on the past never ended well. Thankfully, Tony’s tactlessness was enough to keep his thoughts relatively light. 

“But you knew her for years. You weren’t mourning your friend that long.” Natasha glared at him for the insensitive wording, but Steve was just glad to have a question to keep his mind focused on.

He had enough alcohol in his system to stop him panicking outright, but not too much to answer the question either. The were two sides fighting inside his head – one desperately needed to talk to another human being for once without lying or hiding, the other cowered behind a lifetime of taught fear. For the first time since he began talking, Steve looked around at the room saw that only Tony and Natasha were listening to him. 

_Maybe I could just tell them. Its only two people. No one else is listening. No one else cares._

He mentally reassured himself, reminding himself how much attitudes had changed, how much _laws_ had changed. He reminded himself of how Tony had opened up to him and how badly Steve had wanted to do the same. 

Shakily, Steve raised his gaze, determined to look his teammates in the eye. Natasha met his with open features and kindness, seeming to sense the struggle behind his silence. She gently nodded, and it was the final push Steve needed. 

“Bucky and I were together.” It felt strange to say the words out loud. The second the words left his mouth he felt nerves tangle in his stomach while relief washed through his veins. It felt good.

“Bucky and I were together,” he repeated, voice stronger, “I loved him as long as I can remember and in every way possible. We were together since we were teenagers…” his voice became more bitter as his eyes dropped back to the floor, “but you’ll never find that in a history book.” He paused, gave himself a chance to breathe, and the other two a chance to digest the information. Natasha remained calm and comforting; Tony’s face was expressionless except for widened eyes. 

After a few moments of silence Natasha asked, “did Peggy know?”

Steve gave a small smile and even he wasn’t sure if it was in happiness or sadness, “Yeah,” he sighed, “she did. She was the only one we ever told. Although I’m pretty sure most of the Howlies worked it out. He was everything to me.”

“I’m sorry.” The words were soft, almost whispered by Tony, and Steve just shook his head in response. 

Steve spent the rest of the night in sombre silence, only occasionally interrupted to a question from Tony or Natasha about Bucky, although it was clear neither wanted to over-step their boundaries. It felt like a dream, but there he was, sat talking about him and Bucky like it was perfectly normal. If it was a dream he wished to never wake up.

*** 

The history books may have gotten much of Steve’s life wrong, but there was one thing that would always be true _‘James Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable’_ and once Steve knew Bucky was alive, there was nothing he wouldn’t do to bring him home.

**Author's Note:**

> A few things:  
> 1- sorry this took so long. I only actually spent 2 days on this just with a month gap in the middle. Yay exam stress. 
> 
> 2- idk how well I explained Clint's deafness but he can hear close-up with hearing aids and both signs and speaks. 
> 
> 3- Even though I'm British I made sure to use American words for stuff and I hated myself every time. So I hope you appreciated it. Even though literally no one would notice if I didn't point it out.


End file.
